I can’t stop it.

    I just remembered how on Monday night, or Tuesday morning I got so upset I swallowed 4 gulps of pills. An entire handful. I had to take four swigs of water to get them all down. Then, I laid down and waited and fear sank in and I tired to up-chuck them. That didn’t work. So, I just went back to sleep. Woke up about an hour later to this ungodly ringing in my ears. Realized it was a sign of the end coming, so I went back to sleep so I wouldn’t have to be awake for the worst of it.

    Well, I woke up that evening. I was sick for the next 24-36 hours. But here I am, Saturday and I’m just fine. That would be attempt #4 in my life. 4 failed attempts. Like I just told my friend, it’s more verification that I can’t kill myself because I’m already living in hell. Either that, or I’m a failure in every aspect of the word. So much so that I can’t even properly off myself.

    I sent a message to my sister, reminding her that the house she is sitting so comfortably in was paid in part by me. From the ages of 16 to 21 (perhaps 22), I lived there with my mom and gave her most if not all of my money that I was earning while working in retail. Meaning, she has 6 or more years of equity from me. What pisses me off, is now I am in a position of needing help and she’s only interested in joking about and being jovial. I told her to fucking enjoy the equity and called her a cunt. Then I blocked her.

    I’ll probably end up going to Kwik Trip at some point today to shoplift. I have no food. I ate an old can of diced tomatoes today, pretending it was a cheap chili. There’s a super old can of yams in the cupboard, expired in 2019. I suppose if all else fails, I could eat those and hope I don’t get sick. Maybe that’ll be what does me in? An old can of yams. Nasty food anyways. I don’t even know how to prepare them. I suppose that part doesn’t matter since I’m living with my cousin who doesn’t repair anything so the only tool we have to heat anything up is the microwave.

    I just wish I had enough money to afford my own place, to feed and care for my cat, and to feed and care for myself. That’s all I want. I don’t want vacations, or nice vehicles, or a big house. Sure, all of that would be fun but I’m long past wanting that. If I’m forced to be alive on this planet, against my will, then why do I have to suffer along with it? Why? Because, I live in hell. 

I bet when I die, it’ll all just start over from the beginning.